


Bitter Waters

by Marie_L



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament), Jewish Scripture & Legend
Genre: Angels, Book: Exodus, Demons, Free Will, Gen, Infanticide (not graphic), Midrash, Prophetic Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prophet Miriam wrestles with her personal demon, again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tomurau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomurau/gifts).



All the days of her life, Miriam was blessed and cursed with the holy dreams. Even as an infant, back in those years in which baby Hebrew slaves could howl without the terror of discovery, she would awaken with wide knowing eyes as the black images burned behind her eyelids faded. Her parents rocked her and fretted as the tiny babe unnaturally spoke in tongues, and twitched and seized through through her sleep, and never cried, including the moment she was born.

The Lord of the Ineffable Name spoke to Miriam, rumbling in her ear of her family's sacred destiny, although she was too young to understand the Word. The song of the angels soothed her. But the door Hashem wrenched open in her mind also allowed every foul beast in the world entrance as well. They would creep in, the mares of the night, harassing and enticing her fresh young soul. Unholy creatures and ghosts would attempt to train her to their will, like impious reflections of her true teachers; the children of demons cackled their mischievous trickery into her ear.

And one who was all three watched while she grew older. Waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Miriam was four she encountered Pharaoh in the flesh for the first time, although she already saw ahead that it would not be the last. He was walking through the marketplace loudly extolling his new enlightened policy of population control. Miriam handed her baby brother Aaron – born just before the evil decree – over to their mother Yocheved and marched up to the tall creature. Even from a distance she could see the doubling of his face, the black demon settling on his heart.

“Reverse your decree!” she called out, her voice childish yet clear. “Or the Lord our God will bring destruction not only on your entire house, but horror to all your people as well!”

The Pharaoh turned and fixed his cold eyes on the girl defiantly standing not a hand's length before him. Yocheved ran up, burying the small swaddled babe in her breast as best she could. “Do not pay attention to her, sire, she is only a witless child,” Yocheved begged. “She does not understand what she is saying.”

A brilliant light shone behind him, and Miriam squinted, although she did not budge. _The angel Gabriel_ , some unkindly voice whispered in her head.

Pharaoh's soul rested on the edge of a sword, deciding what to do with this impetuous little slave. “She sounds like she knows well enough. Do we need a public lesson in decorum?”

 _Cut off the demon,_ Miriam thought to the angel. _Why do you not end this now?_

 _It cannot, my descendant._ A new voice, but one she had carried her entire life. _Some things are foreordained by a cruel and unjust God._

Pharaoh rested his hand on his sword, hesitating, understanding through some sense that this moment held more significance than a filthy rat-child in the streets. The angel, too, raised its sword.

 _What if I press ahead and bade him to kill me? Will the angel strike?_ She had never asked questions of the voices before. They simply intruded on her dreams and overwhelmed her. But now Miriam understood that she was not just an oracle, but a participant in the story, although her influence was unclear. Like grasping a cloud, sifting through the visions.

 _Yes,_ said the new voice. Not the angel, for their speech, if you could call it that, sang infinite melodies on the wind. _But it will delay release of your people. Another tyrant will come to replace this one, and you will be rebirthed too. You are necessary, and the redeemer to follow you has not yet been born._

 _Yes,_ Miriam repeated back. She had already seen that child many times. Previously she had thought it would be the new baby, born under a lucky star just before the killing decree, but despite also being plagued by the voices that brother had a different kind of soul.

In the end, Miriam said nothing out loud, simply gazing at Pharaoh with calm fortitude, waiting for her fate. In the end, the frayed remnants of his shredded soul pulled the demon back.

“Remove her from my presence. If I ever hear that voice again, I will cut out her tongue.”

The voice in Miriam head laughed. _Foreordained, child. You have no real choices._

She knew at that moment that it was fallen, a demon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years later, the prophesied child was indeed born, under the unluckiest star of all, the unwavering evil star. Only the ingenuity of his mother and sister kept the boy from the slaughter, like all the others. When the soldiers were due to come through the camp and purge – given that the midwives were coyly refusing the decree – Yocheved bade Miriam to take the beautiful baby to the river. He was still too young to successfully hide in the village, and she could not bear to watch him die.

Miriam knew his fate would not swallowed by the living waters. The angel Gabriel followed them far from the huts through the waving green fields of young wheat reaching for the sun, to a tendril offspring of the mother river. She could have hidden in the grass and waited for the soldiers to leave, like the other Hebrew families with soothable infants, but her mother said the river, and so sang the angel. She brought a pitch-lined basket for the boy, for the waters could be cold and high in late spring.

As Miriam waded down the deep muck through the reeds, she spotted a retinue of nobility near the banks downstream. Women, from the billowing clothes and flashes of color. The group was half a day's walk from Pitom; why would they travel so far into the poor countryside? Normally she would have taken the child and fled in the other direction as fast as her legs could take her, but the angel floated behind the caravan, so Miriam crept closer.

The royal woman, as evidenced by the elaborate gold necklace around her throat, faced the river channel with stoic eyes and sank down into the silty mud with her bare feet. To Miriam's surprise, the woman's skin was covered in some sort of white scaly disease. It had to be Bitia, daughter of one of the Pharoah's lesser wives, performing some sort of ablution.

“You shouldn't lower yourself like this, Highness,” one of her servants objected. The angel Gabriel tightened an invisible hand around the girl's throat. Bitia ignored her and dropped her linen robes off her shoulders, to immerse herself fully in the water.

 _Foreordained,_ a voice called in Miriam's head.She couldn't tell which one it was, although not the Lord her God. _You know what to do._

She slid her baby brother into the basket and into the river, then hid back among the reeds. An offering to the Lord. He stared up at the blue sky with wide brown eyes, undisturbed; none of Yocheved's children ever cried. The baby floated down towards the women just as Bitia emerged from the water, smiling at her servants, her face clean, smooth and unblemished.

“You see?” she told the retinue. “The gods have sanctioned a miracle today.”

One of the servants pointed behind her in the water. “Highness, there is a baby.”

Bitia looked at the infant, which she could reach with little effort, and back at her servants. “Draw him out,” she ordered. Even on a day touched by the divine, there was a limit on how much labor someone of her status would exert. Bitia emerged from the river and allowed a clean robe to be placed on her shoulders, while the others fished the little boy from the swamp.

“It's a Hebrew, Highness. A boy.” The girl had unwrapped his diaper cloth and seen the tell-tale circumcision. “Should we leave him to drown? Your father has decreed...”

“I know what my father has ordered,” Bitia said, cutting her off. “Perhaps this is sign from the Hebrew god of the true source of the miracle, and who am I to dispute the evidence? Bring him with me, and I shall raise as _moshe_ , my son.”

“He is long before weaning,” the servant pressed, ever concerned with protocol and practicalities. “He'll be shrieking within a few hours without a wet nurse.”

“You fool, the villages will be filled with wailing, milk-sopped mothers by the end of the day. Pick one up on the route back to Pitom.”

At that, Miriam wading forward, although she sensed her official role in the miracle was completed. The voices murmured their disapproval in her head, and even the angel, only visible to her, looked surprised. But Miriam couldn't resist the opportunity to give her mother one last source of comfort.

“Highness, I know of a nurse,” she called out softly, respectfully, as she dragged her filthy body out of the river. “She recently lost her child.”

The entire group stared in astonishment at the muddy apparition appearing from the reeds. Bitia gave a cold glance to the infant, then back to the long-haired Hebrew child hiding in the water. “Do you now. I suppose this 'nurse' is conveniently located on the road to Pitom?”

“Yes, highness.”

 _Dangerous, child,_ something slickly whispered. _Your meddling could thwart the grand plan. I'm almost proud, my many-times granddaughter._

“And she would be willing to relocate to a more civilized town just to nurse this baby?”

“Yes, highness.”

Bitia paused to consider, while unbeknownst to her the angel unsheathed its gleaming sword. Who would it strike down in fury if the princess opted to return the boy to the river? Miriam tipped her neck up, like her forefather Isaac, offering herself for the sacrifice. But then Bitia waved a hand of impatient acceptance, and the angel withdrew into itself.

“Very well. Walk behind the caravan, girl, I do not want you dirtying up my carriage.”

“Thank you, highness,” Miriam muttered. “The Lord will reward you for what you have done this day.”

“Your strange god has already rewarded me. But I will keep that in mind, for the future.” She entered her lift, with the entourage and Miriam's baby brother in tow.

Miriam couldn't help wondering what sort of life he was now consigned to, doomed to be raised by the mad people pressing down the yoke on his own. How could he act as a redeemer if he wasn't even be aware of who he was or where he came from? Perhaps Yocheved could whisper the Hebrew stories in his ear, and the boy would remember.

_You did very well, child. Perhaps better than even the Lord expected._

_The Lord knows everything, you blasphemer. Why do you continually harass me? Why can't you leave me alone?_

The voice laughed, with that dry rasp that Miriam recognized and loathed. _You are too worthy to leave alone._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three decades later, the horror continued, season after season. Miriam grew up to be a prominent community midwife, facing the decree every day. With every boy they lied, obfuscated, hid evidence, shuffled children through the villages. And they buried them: the weak, those born too early, the ones that cried at inopportune times. The survivors tended to be quiet and meek, and made excellent slaves.

Still the Hebrews had no redeemer, although both Miriam and Aaron – her pious, obsessive, conciliatory brother, although he had a silver tongue when he chose to use it – continued see the visions of their cloistered youngest sibling. They spread word through the population, but unsurprisingly, their exhortations were not believed. For the mysterious Moses was rarely seen, and showed every sign of affiliation with the nobility of Egypt, and none to his benighted people. Even Aaron, who was now the lead priest of the tribe of Levi, hadn't laid eyes on their brother since he was an adolescent boy.

 _You should be the one to redeem the people,_ the voice murmured one day, as Miriam walked through the streets to her brother's house. She long ago deciphered who this evil tempter was, but preferred to keep him anonymous in her mind, even as she argued with him. _You are the first born. It is your birthright._

_You're a fool, demon. A woman can never be a leader, no matter when or to whom she is born. Besides, you of all people should know the futility of assuming a birthright._

_Indeed. Your forefathers Esau and Reuven could expound commentary on the subject as well. But who said anything about leading the men? There are hardly any left to lead. You outnumber them two to one now, and by the time your hapless little brother wakes up it will be even worse._

 _That is Hashem's will. I do what I can to reduce the severity of the decree._

_Doesn't it gnaw at you that your devout brother's lineage will be honored unto the last generation, that the youngest undeserving boy is the anointed savior, while you, who saves children every day, who galvanizes the women to continue their resistance with each passing year, will only be memorialized in a few lines of song?_

_I kill children every day, because I fail to save them every day. I may not even be able to save my own kin. Aaron should be honored, he at least believes his duties are sanctified, and devotes his life to it._

_Ah, yes, he submits to Adonai. How appropriate, for the slave to model behavior for the slaves._

Miriam turned into her brother's household then, and banished the spirit from her mind. She was calling on Aaron's wife Elisheva, heavy with her first pregnancy. Aaron could be meticulous and compulsive as he channeled the holy visions into observance, but even he took the time to marry. Another sacred duty in a sense, for all the men must marry – there were so few of them of betrothal age, after all – and Elisheva, sister of the chief of Judah, made a good alliance. But he did love the young woman.

Elisheva took Miriam's hands and rubbed them on her swollen belly. “Do you see what they will be, prophetess?” she asked softly. Twins, they already knew. She was understandably anxious, for such births were notorious for their difficulties.

“Both boys,” Miriam responded with a smile. “Don't worry, will be able to hide them. They, too, will grow to be priests.”

_You're not telling her the whole truth. The angels already weep with sorrow over their foul end._

_The truth of the future is not set in stone. Even Aaron's sons will have choices, like the rest of us. But likely they will indeed live. That's all a new mother needs to hear._

_For a time. Will they, too, squander their birthright?_

_Enough, demon. Just because you made an evil choice doesn't mean the rest of us will._

_Well, nobody's perfect._

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An entire generation passed before the prophecies came to pass, and Moses returned. Miriam and Aaron both grew old, Aaron's children now old enough to have children of their own. Long ago their youngest brother had fled to the east, and as the harsh decades passed they ceased speaking of him, even to each other. The visions never stopped, though. On a nightly basis Miriam dreamed of the blooming desert covered in scales, a great city of people on a journey, pure silver water running between the tents. But she also couldn't escape the prophesies of death. Hebrew children, Egyptian, of birth and disease and drowning, the angels came for them all.

In eighty years Miriam never discussed with her brother her visions of the first born. She knew that since he never had that particular prophesy, he would likely dismiss it as the delusions of a midwife who saw infants threatened or die every day. The two of them saw different shards of the same future, each according to their own life's work; they both witnessed the redemption, but Aaron often dreamed of the sacred mountain, the holy Words to be imprinted on their souls, even the great temple in the promised land that his sons' descendants would build to faithfully worship the Lord. Children belonged to the domain of women, Miriam's domain. Although she knew most of the victims would not be babies, she was old enough to have delivered them all.

And then Moses finally returned to Egypt, his foreign family of converted believers in tow, and everything began to come true. The new Pharaoh was once like a brother to Moses, long back into the depths of their childhood, but the demon of his father gripped his heart even more tightly.

 _You know what will happen, Prophetess Miriam,_ her old companion whispered. _Will you let it happen? Would your brother intervene if he knew?_

_Which brother? Ah, it doesn't matter. Events are in motion now, there is nothing to do but submit and prepare. No, they would not stop even if they knew._

_Nothing to do! You're going to do nothing, you mean, while the so-called God of all gods slaughters innocents!_

_You speak to me of innocents -- you, who killed your own brother over a petty grievance? What about all of our innocents that have been strangled and drowned all of these years? Eye for an eye. Retribution for every weeping mother I've ever held in my arms. The choices have already been made._

_Now who's the self-deluding fool? Did you not learn from the story that retribution only leads to wandering and suffering for an eternity? We'll see if you still can believe, when the screams of Egypt reach all the way to the smiling heavens._

In the end, her demon ancestor was right.

The women were well-prepared for the holy night, despite the foreordained haste. Miriam made sure of it. They packed, baked, rustled up lambs, spread the blood on the doorposts, and gathered all the firstborn into their arms. There was no possibility of sleep. Miriam confined herself with Aaron's household, as they were all that remained of her true family. She was a first born, along with Elisheva and elder twin Nadav and young grandnephew Phinehas and several others, but no Egyptians were permitted through the protected door. For even Miriam didn't dare rebel against an angry God as the angel of death swept through and took His sacrifices.

The screams were indeed terrible, a wail piercing louder than any sound on Earth before or hence. It was difficult to think of anything but the thousands of babies Miriam had delivered, only to hear them arbitrarily cut down. There would be no more birthrights in this contaminated land. In a few short hours the Hebrews would leave, never to return, but for that black time their only role was to bear silent reluctant witness to the suffering of another people.

_Do you still sing the praises of choice tonight, my many times granddaughter?_

_On another day, with the sea at my back, I will regain the strength to sing. But tonight I will weep only bitter tears. That is the only choice._

 


End file.
